The Wolf at the Edge of Camp
by Addai
Summary: The armies of Ferelden have mustered for war.  So have the Dalish, who believe they have found a war leader to restore the elves' lost glory.  Reality is always messier than the legend.  Mature content.


_Author's note: As always, Dragon Age belongs to BioWare. The lore of the Dalish elves is one area which in the game and novels are only lightly sketched. I color between the lines with impressions from Norse mythology, Native Americans, the Romani, and the Fremen of the _Dune _universe. The poem that Idun recites to Alistair was inspired by the poem "My Brothers" by Tchalai, about the Roma people. The seed for this story was not anything particularly elvish, however, but the muster of the "summer knights" in _A Song of Ice and Fire_.  
_

_Many thanks to Sandtigress and SurelyForth for editing and story suggestions worth their weight in lyrium. –A._

* * *

"Are you alright? Two days on that horse and you still look green around the gills." Alistair glanced across to Idun, grinning impishly. The Wardens and Bann Teagan Guerrin of Rainesfaire rode three abreast. Just behind them rode a squire bearing the banner of Rainesfaire and another with a newly restored griffon-on-black for the Grey Wardens. Along the road behind them stretched a long column of troops, who were all at the end of the two-day march from Denerim to Redcliffe arling. Idun's mabari Fenrys heeled to her mount, no stranger to such marches, being more of a war veteran than many of the green troops behind them.

"It's just a long way to the ground. Much higher from the ground than from the back of a halla." She tried to keep her voice down so as not to embarrass herself in front of Teagan. By now the entire troop force knew that horses were not the Dalish Warden's forte', but there was no point in underlining that fact.

"So you've said. About ten times now, by my count."

"At least I know you were listening." She didn't bother to keep her voice down for this remark.

Teagan cut in with a laugh. "You two _must _be married, judging by how you argue." The bann, Alistair's foster-uncle, had greeted news of their marriage with a shout of joy and bear hugs for both of them. Idun guessed that he would be the only shemlen noble who would be so pleased at hearing that the last of the Theirins was bound to a Dalish elf. If rumors were true, after the Landsmeet and Alistair's now-famous duel with Loghain, more than one Fereldan noblewoman had entertained thoughts of "elevating" Maric's bastard. Of course since their marriage was not "official," they might still be thinking that. Then there was Eamon, who could barely look Idun in the eye since she had given the crown to Anora rather than to Alistair. He had said hardly a word to her, few to Alistair, before taking his and Queen Anora's vanguard onward to Redcliffe proper, along with the Wardens' other companions. They would rendezvous with them the following day.

"Knife ears, m'lord, whole packs of wild Dalish and armed to the teeth..."

They had reached the watch fences of Rainesfaire and though Idun listened to all the watchmen's reports, these words went through her like lightning. _The Dalish had come. _It dawned on her only then that she had been worried that they would not, treaty or no.

Alistair heard something else in the report that caught his attention. "So we were right," he said aside to Idun. "No signs of darkspawn anywhere in the area. No horde, no archdemon. Where are they?" Their nightmares had all but stilled. Normally this would be good news, but it was worrisome in its own way.

The line had started forward again, everyone eager to get to camp. Idun's breath caught when the riders crested a rise and saw the sea of tents, horses, and practice fields stretched into the forests beyond and all the way down to the blue of Lake Calenhad. It was a stirring sight, an amazing one considering all the country had been through. She glanced at Alistair and guessed by his now-sober expression that they were thinking of the same thing: Ostagar. The same banners, the same ring of blacksmith metal, the shouts and tense laughter. They were back where they started, only much bloodied and wearied in the meantime, and no Duncan. The armies would be looking to _them_ for leadership now.

After a pause, Teagan leaned towards them and said, "_You_ did this, Wardens. Without you, these armies would be still fighting each other. Now come and take a closer look at your troops."

Idun maneuvered her mount in behind the two men and followed them into the meadow. As they rode by the camps, hails went up from among the tents. The Wardens had gained a reputation by now, though Idun did not know whether to feel relieved about this fact or more nervous. Teagan named the banners as they passed: Gwaren, Western Hills, the golden sun of Waking Sea bann, the crescent moon and stars of Dragon's Peak, and half a dozen other principalities whose names the Dalish Warden had never heard. It was a small tent city unto its own, boiling with life. They had now added several more banners to the mix, including the arling of Denerim and what was left of Rendon Howe's men.

Teagan led them on a path through some trees to an adjoining meadow, and there was the Dalish encampment. A smile broke on Idun's face at the familiar sights and smells. Though small compared to the shemlen's camps, Idun had not seen so many Dalish all together since the Arlathven of the clans when she was eighteen. There were rows and rows of colorful tents and storage aravels, a picket of halla, and several communal bonfires. The banners here were not coats of arms, but the symbols of the elven gods painted on animal skins. This was a war camp, not an Arlathven, however, so the pounding of mallets and the shouting of bowmen at practice replaced the sounds of children playing and flute dances.

Some elves near the entrance to the camp recognized her and a shout went up, spreading across the camp like a rolling wave. A crowd quickly gathered and Idun found herself answering called greetings with a giddy sense of relief. It was like balm to a wound to see so many and to hear her own language again. She dismounted awkwardly, Alistair reaching her just in time to steady her.

"I will go on ahead to my hall," Teagan called to the Wardens. "Rainesfaire proper is not far, just a mile or so down the road. Come sup with me tonight."

Idun nodded and lifted a hand in farewell, and Alistair motioned for their squire to ride on with Teagan. As Idun turned back to the elves, hands reached out to grasp hers and she smiled and laughed, returning greetings. Alistair was pushed back by the press and out of the corner of her eye Idun saw him hovering nearby, looking uncomfortable. Before she could do anything about it, a familiar face appeared before her. Shouting to be heard above the din, he caught her up in an embrace. "Lethallan! What a great fuss you have kicked up!"

"Serethon!" Idun was breathless, mostly from disbelief. She had not expected to see any of her clan here. The last she had known, they had all gone north to flee the Blight. That was back when Ferelden still had a king and his armies to fight the darkspawn.

The Dalish man was large by elven standards, wearing a sleeveless dark leather vest that left his muscled arms bare but for a few colorful bands tied around them. His dark hair was trussed up in looped braids and a pair of green, cat-like eyes and a wide grin shone from a face blackened with war paint. The lines of his vallaslin had been re-inked in bright blue on top of the black. Releasing her, Serethon turned and waved off the others with shouts to pipe down. When the crowd quieted, he turned back and his smile vanished. "We got the message you sent through Lanaya's clan. I am so sorry, lethallan. To hear of Tamlen's fate tore open the wound of losing you both again, but I know you had no choice. You can't believe how good it is to see your face, my sister. I and a few other hunters set out the day we got the message so that we could make it in time to join Lanaya's clan. We are not many, but do not fear, Tamlen will be avenged."

"Thank you, Serethon. It means everything to see you here. I can't believe... all of this." She gestured at the camp.

"Did you think the Dalish would falter? Come, lethallan, you know that is not our way. We gathered all that we could in short time. Ours and Lanaya's clans are not the only ones represented here. We will rain a storm of arrows down on these beasts such that none will ever get near to threaten you. Marethari would not let me come home if it were otherwise. She is well and sends her greetings, as does Ashalle." Serethon looked past her and noticed Alistair. The elf gave him a curt, respectful nod, which Alistair returned.

Idun followed Serethon's gaze. Gesturing for Alistair to come closer, she switched into the king's tongue. "Serethon, this is Alistair of the Grey Wardens. Alistair, Serethon, a hunter of my clan and a good friend." She wavered, throat clenching. It was time, but now that the time had come the words stuck on her tongue. If she had only to face Lanaya's hunters, it would have been easier. The cord to her clan, to all her people, was already cut, but she did not think the other Dalish would want to admit it. They would have to admit it now, beginning with Tamlen's closest friend. Taking Alistair's arm, Idun plunged in, trying to keep her voice steady and head lifted. "Lethallin, this is my bondmate. Though I did not have the clan to hear me, I called the Creators to witness it and I bonded with him. I ask that you welcome him to our fire."

The Dalish man's grin vanished in an instant, his face turning hard. No one said anything for a long moment. Finally Serethon answered also in the king's tongue, his voice bitter. "So this is how it is when one goes amongst the shemlen. You have changed, Idun. I knew it the moment I saw you, but I did not realize how much." He hesitated, then gestured behind him and went on, "Do you know what they are calling you? They tell again the story of how as a little child you became a wolf to warn our clan of bandits. They talk about how you are a spirit of Arlathan come back with the ancient gifts to restore our people. A keeper of keepers, a guide so great that even the shemlen look to you for who should rule them. They say you walk between worlds like the Dread Wolf did, who befriended the false gods so that he could betray them into the hands of the Creators. They are calling you Val'harel." Blood of the wolf.

"And have you told them I am none of these things?"

"No, and neither shall you. _They_ need this. You give them hope and courage, not just for the battle ahead but for what it could mean for the clans in the future." Serethon cast an angry glance at Alistair before focusing his ire on Idun once more. "So you will be Val'Harel, at least for now. They can find out later that it is the Dalish you have betrayed." He whirled to go, then stopped and turned back. "We are having a council fire tonight to ask the blessing of the Creators for the coming battle. There has not been a war vigil like this in hundreds of years. The others will want you to light the fire and to lead us."

With that, Serethon was gone, and Idun had lost her appetite for more reunions. "Let's go," she said, pulling Alistair away.

* * *

Idun's knee slipped on the wet stone of the tub in Teagan's washroom, but Alistair caught her and pulled her back upright, holding her more firmly around the waist this time. She began to thrust on him once more, head back and eyes closed but no particular enthusiasm in it. It was an effort, Alistair realized dimly through the static of her body's grip and motion on him. Idun was trying, maybe she even wanted this too, but her mind was half elsewhere. He should probably have left her alone. The lure of the big tub and hot water had been too much, however. Teagan's halls had been filled with lords before he even got home to them, and he had not been able to offer the Wardens guest quarter. They refused his offer to give them his own rooms for the night, but did accept them for a few hours to rest and bathe. And to make love, perfunctorily as it turned out.

She was probably still upset about what the elf said. Curses rang through Alistair's mind at the memory. They were going to try to pry her away from him if they could. Pulling Idun closer, he enclosed her in a tight embrace, burying his face in her hair and rocking his hips up into her with more urgency. She had not said a word about the elf's epithets and would not let him, either. It was just like when Tamlen died and it had been a forbidden subject for weeks, Alistair not allowed to touch or comfort her after the first terrible night. Why did she do this to him? In battle their cardinal rule was never to be out of each other's sight; bad things happened when they were out of sightline. But when she hurt, she went away inside and he was shut out.

Half angrily Alistair braced on the edge of the tub and lifted both of them up to their knees. Idun murmured in surprise as he pushed her into a sitting position on the edge of the tub, water slapping out onto the floor with the sudden movement. Spreading her knees, he leaned forward and began to ply her with his tongue, forcefully at first, then more artfully as he felt her tension relax and she began to make soft moaning murmurs and to say his name. The sound was both sweet and terrifying. He loved her so much, with all his being, and so many things could still pull them apart. Moments like this were more than he deserved, but Alistair found himself all the more greedy for them. A lifetime of them. _Maker, don't leave me,_ he said, not in words but with the gentle desperation of his tongue's motions on her. After she came with a shudder and quiet gasp, Alistair reached beneath the water and began to stroke himself, not wanting to force her to cater to him any longer. Mercifully he was so aroused that it only took a few vigorous movements and he was groaning and spurting into the bath, Idun sitting mute with her hands on his shoulders, water dripping from her. He let his head fall onto her side and she cradled it, kissing him on his forehead but remaining silent.

She stood up a few moments later, toweled briefly, and went out into the bedchamber, leaving Alistair to his sullen thoughts. He was a bath man, and normally he would have enjoyed the soak, but not when he was forced to think about the afternoon and the ceremony to come. He wanted to be anywhere else but the elven council fire that evening. This was the bother about being with a healing mage, however. If you suddenly came down with a terrible leg cramp or stomach ache that prevented you from attending odd ceremonies with lots of angry elves, you'd just end up getting blasted with mystical waves of pep and verve until you got better.

More importantly, the event was significant to Idun, so he would go and try not to start any fistfights. He hoped. At least other Dalish in the camp had made them a much nicer welcome than Serethon, even plying them with gifts, including a full battle dress for Idun and a nice ironbark dagger for him. Nevertheless she had had tears in her eyes as they continued on to Rainesfaire and Alistair was certain they weren't all from gratitude.

He came out of the bath to find Idun standing before a mirror, dressed in a dark undertunic and smallclothes...and methodically streaking her face with black paint. This fact made Alistair stop in his tracks and for a moment wonder how he ended up married to _this_ woman. Certainly whenever he had dared to envision himself in love, as improbable as that had always seemed to him anyway, the women in his fantasies hadn't looked like this. Possibly because no woman he had ever met before Idun looked like this. Coming up behind her, he watched her face in the mirror. Idun did not look up at his approach, only kept applying paint with a solemn concentration. Elves had this in common with templars, that they valued meditation, and though Idun seemed to be meditating now, she also had fresh wetness in her eyes. The sight of his wife crying made Alistair feel helpless and cornered. He put a hand on her back and let it rest there.

All the while she marked her face in warpaint, neither of them spoke. She had covered one side in black and the other red, retracing her tattoo lines in bright blue. Alistair tried not to gawk, concentrating on helping her with her new armor. It was beautiful craftsmanship: Gauntlets, cuirass and bracers of aged and hardened leather etched with elven symbols, and trousers and boots of a more supple material. He could feel each piece thrumming with enchantments. So much lyrium must have cost the Dalish a fortune. There was also a dark purple cloak emblazoned with bright symbols, and a leather half-helm in the shape of a wolf's head with rubies for the eyes. Idun then helped Alistair put on his own best leathers, though he was a plain duck in comparison. He cast one longing eye at Teagan's big bed but knew better than to carry the thought through.

If his wife looked foreign to him in the face paint, once she set the wolf helm on her head, Alistair wasn't sure he knew her any longer. Her touch and voice were familiar, at any rate. Clasping his hand as they turned to leave, she whispered, "I love you."

Alistair wanted to kiss her, but the paint and helm kept him from that, too. Instead he mumbled, "And I you." Even as he said it he realized that it sounded insincere, and he redoubled more firmly. "I love you. Very much." Why did he feel like they were going to another Landsmeet, this one no more welcoming than the other had been?

They brought the young Denerim squire along to help them set up a tent, choosing a quiet spot in the trees between the Dalish and human encampments. The Grey Warden banner was set up in the ground next to it, looking very regal for the fact that it marked a company of exactly two. Three if you counted Riordan, who had gone ahead to scout the southlands. The squire kept casting nervous glances at the Dalish Warden and seemed happy when he was dismissed. Alistair couldn't blame him. Though Idun was not fearsome in stature by anyone's standards, the shimmer of her eyes, her peculiar dress and the fact that she was an elf and a mage understandably had made the lad nervous.

It was full dark by the time they walked into the Dalish camp. At one end of the meadow, a ring of torches had been set up in a circle, with the banners of the elven gods set up in between. Most of the Dalish were already assembled in the circle, clustered around a high stack of wood at its center. A murmur went through the crowd when they approached and a pathway towards the center of the circle opened. Idun kept going; Alistair hung back. She hesitated, but let him go, bidding her mabari heel to him also. He found a safe tree to lean against and looked around nervously. Some of the elves shot hostile glances at him, others curious, and most paid him no mind at all.

His vantage point allowed him to see Idun and several other men and women, probably elders, conferring by the fire. She then turned towards the wood and held up her hands. A chant began among the crowd, soft at first but soon picking up in intensity. Abruptly flame burst from Idun's hands and ignited the wood. After a moment Alistair caught the scent of the elves' ceremonial jasmine coming from the fire.

The chant continued on and began to build in energy. Hundreds of voices were in unison, and it felt like the ground was being rocked beneath his feet. Occasionally the sound would fall off while a woman's voice called out prayers. Alistair knew that was what they were, since he recognized a few of the names of the elven gods. It took him longer to realize that the woman calling out the prayers was Idun.

After some time of this, a few of the Dalish started to beat an instrument made of wood that gave a hollow, eerie thumping sound. Others beat skin drums. The crowd began to sway and then, as in one accord, turned and circled the fire. Every four steps they would stop again, turn, sway from one foot to the other, and then turn and the circle would move once more. At first the pace was slow and rhythmic, but it seemed to feed on itself and pick up. Alistair lost sight of Idun in the crowd.

He was still straining to find her again when a pair of curious onlookers from the human camp wandered into the clearing. Seeing Alistair and assuming he was also there to gape, they came over to him. One asked what the knife-ears were getting up to, another when the naughty bits were going to start. When the first man noticed the look on Alistair's face, they slunk off again, he presumed to search for naked dancers elsewhere. Meanwhile Alistair went back to looking for his wife among a mass of swaying, turning elves. Fenrys, Idun's mabari, began to whine.

"That's what I was thinking," he agreed. The spectacle was moving from interesting to dodgy in short order. For one thing, among the elves Alistair saw some upheld daggers and axes among the dancers, which seemed like a really bad idea for such close quarters. And there was no telling where Idun was in the midst of it.

The next moment, she was right in front of him. Idun calmed the mabari first, telling him to "stay," and grabbed Alistair's arm to pull him into the circle. They squeezed their way towards the center where the elves were just a press of bodies, each individual moving on their own but in a surprisingly ordered unison. They had begun to sing rather than chant, a song that sounded to him somehow both sad and animated. Dragged into the river of elvenkind, Alistair had no choice but to follow along. His two left feet were not helping matters, though eventually he caught the rhythm and his natural athleticism took over.

Even in the "Maker where am I now" of it all, he found that his heart was pounding. The jasmine was intoxicating, and so was Idun. Her helm had fallen back and her dark hair was bouncing freely on her shoulders, eyes bright with excitement and firelight rather than the tears of earlier in the day. She was singing, occasionally laughing if someone stumbled or the ring got out of order. It appeared that she was actually having fun at it, and if he hadn't been so bewildered and feeling so out of place, Alistair might even have, as well. Out of all the faces that passed in front of him, he saw only hers. They were the very opposite of alone, however.

Finally the dance seemed to be slowing down again and Alistair tried to get back through the press to his much more comfortable tree. Idun held him firmly in place, however, and when the assembly had stopped moving she lifted her voice to shout more prayers. This time he heard amidst the shouted elvish the names Redcliffe... Orzammar... Denerim, and he understood that the elves were asking blessing on the allied armies one by one. They were not half-hearted about it, either. Whether it was really collegial spirit or they were just caught up in the moment, the responsive chanting was as enthusiastic as it had been earlier.

As one of these shouts went up, it was pierced suddenly by the sound of Idun's mabari howling. War hounds could howl impressively. The sound of it alone could cause a weaker enemy to falter. After only a momentary pause in the chanting, there was applause and cheering among the Dalish. They began to shout out a phrase over and over, something Alistair didn't understand.

With the mabari still howling and the elves shouting, the night air was suddenly pierced by another sound. It took a moment for them to realize what it was, but when they did the entire crowd of Dalish to fall to a hushed silence. Then the sound came again: A wolf was howling in the hills above the encampment. The mabari gave an answering howl and then another wolf howled, this one further off. Even the clatter of the human armies camped nearby quieted. Alistair caught sight of Idun's face and saw that she looked startled. The Dalish began to murmur, and someone picked up that phrase again and began to shout it. For what must have been a full five minutes, the elves shouted these words, the wolves howled, and Fenrys had somehow decided that he was Dalish. When Alistair looked again, Idun was gone and in her place was an enormous white she-wolf, howling amidst the shouts of the elven warriors.

The Dalish erupted in ecstatic cheering at the sight of her in wolf form. Alistair stumbled back, then pushed his way to the edge of the crowd. When he was free of the press, he sucked in the fresher air and braced against a tree. Air helped. A bit. His grasp on reality firmed a little, then a little more once the wolves in the hills above them stopped howling and the elves began to disperse from the circle. Some were still shouting that phrase, what he took for some kind of a war cry, but now others were laughing or talking as if at a celebration. Alistair caught a glimpse of the white wolf among them, and a moment later Idun was walking towards him. Fenrys bounded to her side.

"Alistair," she said quietly as she came close. "Are you alright?"

"I don't know." She had never been more of a stranger to him. He thought that he had gotten used to her elvishness and her magey-ness, but this was a new level of both.

Idun said nothing, still trying to get her breath and her bearings also. Finally they both turned to walk back towards their camp. Several times she was accosted by excited elves, so there was no chance to talk until they got back to the copse of trees between the elven and human camps. As they passed through the Dalish ranks, Alistair caught sight of one angry face among the others. The hunter Serethon glared at them as they passed, but Idun either did not notice or chose not to see.

When they reached their tent, she propped her staff against a tree and caused its stone to illumine them a little. Afterwards she leaned against the tree herself, regarding him. "I know it must have seemed very strange to you. I wouldn't have insisted that you come, except... I suppose I needed you to see it." Alistair started to say something, to make a cheap reassurance, but she cut him off. "This wasn't my daily life, you know. Most of those at the fire had never been to such a war council. I surely hadn't. I wasn't even sure if I would remember the prayers, let alone lead them." Another pause while she searched for words, and Idun asked, "I guess the humans don't have war fires?"

"Not like that," Alistair replied quickly. "Well, maybe in Orlais." They both laughed and it cut the awkwardness a little. He stepped closer to her, looping a hand around her back. As much as he felt out of place and shy with her at that moment, he was learning enough female cues to realize that she was searching for acceptance from him, too. "It _was_ strange," he admitted. "A little scary. But it was also beautiful in a way. _You_ were beautiful. When you weren't being scary."

Idun laughed again, which he took for a good sign. "It is just a way for us to find our courage," she explained, a little defensive in her tone. "And to bind together. Much as we probably look all Dalish to you, there were different clans there. It is what we call Vir Adahlen, the way of the forest. There are all trees, different kinds, but together you make a forest. We are stronger together than apart. The prayers and the dance, they remind us of this."

Alistair nodded, replying, "It's a nice thought, and good battle philosophy. I'm curious, what were they shouting there at the end?"

"Val'harel issai Elgar'nan." She hesitated, seeming reluctant to translate, though finally she went on, "You heard Serethon earlier. Val'harel, the blood of the wolf, that is what they are calling me. Elgar'nan is our god of vengeance. So, it means 'Val'harel brings vengeance.'" Her eyes shifted away, the idea obviously not sitting comfortably.

"So they really are looking to you as their war leader."

"It seems."

Alistair paused, then ventured, "That's good, then. Isn't it?" Idun's expression was noncommittal at first, but finally she nodded as well. He smiled, feeling somewhat better about it all. They were Wardens and she was doing her Warden duty, not taking on some role among her people that might put her beyond him. It just had been like no Wardening he had ever imagined, and he was fairly sure it wasn't in the handbook. Then again, he reflected, by now Idun was probably the most powerful battle mage in Ferelden. It was really no surprise that the Dalish looked on her not just as a war leader, but as a hero.

Something else occurred to him. "What was all that with the wolves howling there at the end? That was...creepy."

Idun's smile flashed white in the dark. "A little creepy, yes. Perhaps not as creepy as it seems, though." At his questioning look, she explained, "I am not positive, but I think I know why the wolves came. There were a few keepers in the camp and summoning magic is not unknown to us. It is rare to see it exercised so powerfully, with whole packs together, but this was an unusual situation. That is also why..." She faltered a little. "You have seen me as a wolf before, but only in battle. I had not planned to shift there. It just seemed like the thing to do."

Alistair spoke carefully. "A bit of a show. For the troops' benefit."

Idun nodded, admitting that it was so. "To demonstrate the gods' favor for this effort. In a way it does show the gods' presence with us. Our magic comes from them, after all, and it is one of our weapons. But one way or another, some need reassurance in order to fight alongside human armies. If these human armies weren't fighting darkspawn, some of them might be hunting _us_. And the Dalish are just as frightened of the Blight as anyone else." After a pause, she laughed bitterly. "Still, it is funny that they call me Val'harel. Our god Fen'Harel is the trickster, the deceiver. His likeness is always set at the edge of the camp, facing away. He is one of the Creators and is honored, too, in a way, but is not treated like the others."

Alistair caught the implications of the long pause that followed her words, the slight fall in her voice. She was thinking that she, too, had been set at the edge of the camp, neither Dalish nor human. The very things that made her a hero to the Dalish set her apart from them. He leaned forward to kiss the top of her head, which was fragrant with jasmine, smoke and the clean sweat of exertion. "You're no trickster. And no god. You're just doing what you have to do and using the gifts that the Maker—or the Creators, whatever—gave you. And when I think about it, you rallied me, too. Seeing the armies earlier today and the Dalish tonight... I haven't thought this in a long time, but you know, maybe we'll actually beat this thing. The Blight."

Idun looked up and smiled.. "So you're fired up, are you?"

Alistair turned and pressed his lips to her ear, murmuring, "You have no idea." He hesitated, waiting to see if she would welcome the implied invitation. A moment later, a triumphant smile came to his lips as he felt her breath quicken and her hand clutch at his cloak. Veritably dragging her towards the tent, he shook his head at her objections that she needed to wash the paint from her face first. At a second thought, he reached back and grabbed her staff. He wanted to see her. Alistair especially wanted to see her as she was now, more _Dalish_ than he had witnessed her be, and yet still his. Maybe it was the jasmine or the restless heat from the dance, but his need was fierce, and her alienness of that evening only fed the pressure. If he had thought about it honestly, he would have to admit that he had felt it first in Ostagar when he saw the elven woman in odd dress approaching him, too proud to show how sick she was from the taint. Another jolt had run up his spine the first time he realized that she was a mage, felt the power thrum in her from his templar senses, and again when she began casting waves of healing over them in the Korcari Wilds. An elf and a mage, the last woman he should fall in love with, but somehow it made him only want her more.

There was no time to analyze now. They were practiced at quickly removing armor, though they usually started with bits and pieces still on. This time he wanted all of it gone, leaving only her amulet. At last he sat back and pulled her astride him so that they were face to face. Her dark hair, now long enough to nearly reach her mid-back, was curly with damp and made a bewitching, unruly frame for the red and black on her face. Alistair leaned forward to kiss her, closing his eyes as their tongues met and plied softly in a foreshadowing of what was to come. He resisted pulling her fully onto him, however, instead slipping a hand between her thighs for a different sort of reward. The arch in her body, head thrown back, never failed to enthrall him. That he could do this to any woman was incredible; that this powerful woman he loved and admired responded to him this way, almost past belief.

Just when he could stand to wait no longer for something more imminent, Idun let go of his shoulders and climbed off, turning to her hands and knees. They had made love this way numerous times, he crouched behind her, though at first Alistair had had doubts about it. He liked to see her face. There was no arguing with the way their bodies felt when fit together like this, however, nor with her enthusiasm. This night, simply the sight of her this way electrified him so much that he was groaning "Maker" even as he knelt. He had become experienced enough that he could normally last a good while, but not this time. They had had to finish the way they started, with his fingers at work on her.

They made a pause and threw on just enough underclothes to go outside and attend to business. Fenrys leapt up when they emerged and followed along. The mabari always stood guard outside Idun's tent flap. When the Wardens were out on the road and things inside the tent had gotten particularly heated, Alistair could occasionally hear him growling, and not for any enemy attack. The mabari was generally polite enough not to disturb them. _ Maybe he and Serethon ought to get acquainted_, Alistair thought, and decided not to say aloud.

In the stream, Idun washed the paint from her face with soap from her pack. Afterwards they found the privy trench already dug for the army camp and Alistair did his business, then stood jealous guard for Idun. Back in the tent, they drank some wine, and resumed where they had let off.

When both were spent he held her under one arm, her head resting on his chest. Sleep proved impossible. There was the drunken singing coming from somewhere in the human camps, and Alistair's mind also kept turning over the day. They gossiped in lazy murmurs about where the horde could be hiding itself and the fact that their nightmares were disturbingly quiet. They also talked about the banners they had seen that day and the lords they met at Teagan's, who were lords as lords always were, not many worth the time it took to list out their titles. The human armies would be harder to inspire than the Dalish, he wagered. At least they had done the hard part and gotten their armies assembled. They had an army, but no enemy. A thought stirred in him. What if...

The warning bell in Alistair's head was diverted when Idun spoke up again, her voice making warm reverberations on his chest. "I am actually proud of our people tonight. Lanaya was right. We are not many, but I think we will make a difference. This will cost us dearly, as well. Many of these hunters will die, and with no one to protect or feed their clans, they could die in the wilds, too." That was a cheery thought, and Alistair didn't know what to say in response. It was no different than the risk many human settlements took, but Idun's people had been trying to survive on meager ground for centuries and had almost had their whole way of life eradicated. They lived on thin threads. Even if the world didn't end, those thin threads of their civilization could be cut by this. Being married to a Dalish elf had made him see such things, things he had ignored most of his life, with new eyes. He was still putting the pieces together.

Idun pulled away from him, sat up and drew in her knees, resting her chin on them. After a few moments she began to speak again softly, and Alistair realized that she was reciting something. Judging by her halting voice, she was translating.

"_They had eyes light as stars, our brothers and sisters,_

_Teeth like wolves' teeth, our brothers and sisters,_

_Clenched tight on their anger_

_Loosed free on their songs._

_They had lives long as the sea, our brothers and sisters,_

_Hands strong as the earth, our brothers and sisters,_

_Raised to strike their enemies_

_Steadied on the crafting blade._

_Gone are they on all the old paths_

_We call to them and they do not come_

_Yet in our own faces we see them_

_In all of you, brothers and sisters."_

She fell quiet again and Alistair didn't disturb her for a while, so they listened to the night sounds and the camp sounds outside. Finally he reached out for her and drew her back down on his arm. Turning his head to kiss her temple and her hair, he asked softly, "Do you believe what that... that _person_ said to you earlier? Are you thinking that I've taken you away from your people and your way of life?"

"The taint did that," she answered immediately, voice languid with sleep. "The Grey Wardens did. You, you helped find me again."

Alistair thought she might say that, but had needed to hear it all the same.

The following day, scouts reported seeing no wolves in the cliffs around Rainesfere. Half a day's ride away from Rainesfaire, in Redcliffe proper, Eamon's scouts had other things to report about than wildlife. Daybreak found them flying down the cliffsides, just ahead of the darkspawn.


End file.
